So, it's Autism Awareness Month, and I'm all for awareness. While people are being extra aware this month, I'd like to ask that people be aware not just of the difficulties and problematic aspects of autism, but also of the fact that autistic people are people. Unique, wonderful, precious people. As worthy of honoring for all that they are as any other person. Moreover, I think it's important to make clear that eliminating autism isn't everyone's goal. It's not even the most widely-held goal of the people whose votes count the most (in my opinion). And what I want those of you who know and love me to know is that it's not my goal.
I'm all for providing loving, nurturing, supportive, empowering therapy to all people who struggle with anything, including Autism. Heck, our family gave up everything to do just that. I do believe in ameliorating challenges and difficulties, and always, always, always laying for all people, including Autistic people, a foundation for joy (and adult independence). When my son was given this diagnosis, it was made more than clear that we were supposed to be sad. So, we were. We were supposed to be scared. So, we were. I'm not saying there's not room for grief and anxiety. There is. Of course there is. Parents grieve stuff. Parents worry. But the constant barrage of symptom-talk and minimizing, pathologizing, and ignoring the things I love most about the coolest child I've ever met (I know, I'm biased) makes me flipping mad.
Until recently, Daniel had a highly educated, highly experienced, and incredibly pompous and negative "therapist" who seemed hell-bent on forming my child in her own image. I didn't fire her because of her intentions (those sorts of people are too common to be completely avoided). I fired her because it was working. I heard my child becoming a parrot in the living room, echoing back to her useless and bizarrely inaccurate/incomplete answers to even dumber questions. I saw his spirit caving in. I hated myself for subjecting him to it; all the while wondering if it was still "in his best interest." Answer: NO!
Before the diagnosis day when everyone in the room seemed so darned focused on getting me to see how scared I ought to be, that question would have seemed like a no brainer. But fear makes people hesitant as much as it makes us impulsive, and I wasn't sure whether that time I was at risk of being too hesitant or too impulsive. In the end, I was neither. When I told her that she wouldn’t be allowed to work with him anymore, her response was haughty, righteous, and cold. Tragic really. But without a second thought, I filled with play, joy, and laughter the hours she was trying (with a really weird version of good intentions) to use to break my kid. The results have been really good. He's doing wonderfully well in school, gaining new skills and strengths by the minute, we can go to church in age-appropriate peace, and he is so very, very, very happy! I am too. I did replace that "therapist" with someone amazing. She's a therapist according to our insurance company, which pays for her; but really, she's a highly qualified playmate, mentor, and a big-time Daniel-fan. She loves him. She's not afraid to say it. She loves him for all that he is, and only wants (as I do) to equip him well to pursue his own passions and dreams.
So as we are all being aware this month, I hope that we will focus our attention on love, kindness, and respect for people with autism. Before we talk about autism, let's talk about personhood. Let's open our minds and our hearts. Let's love. Let's respect. And let's remember that the reason other people aren't like us is because they aren't us. Let's teach our children to cope in the world that they live in, to respect others, to be responsible, to be moral, and to be kind. And with whatever energy we have left (and whether your kids are on the spectrum or not, there's not much left), let's get a hobby.
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Thursday, January 8, 2015
1/8/15
Neat observation from D this morning - i think it provides insight into how his brain takes in the world. I also think maybe next year he should do an ABA science project. He was explaining to me events from the backseat of the car when we were on our way to school.
"Matthew dropped his bottle so I got it for him. He saw it coming so he started fussing quieter and quieter until it got to his mouth."
Tiny moment, yes, but the events he described happened in such a short time that one would almost have to have experienced them in slow motion in order to pick up on M's observation and the decreasing decibel level.
Monday, January 5, 2015
1/4/15
So I will not forget it... I'm feeling really proud of D for making a really good choice, and helping me to repair a parenting goof-up.
A while back I let D watch the first three Harry Potter movies, fast forwarding through the scary parts at first, then eventually letting him watch those during the day, with the lights on, pausing frequently to check-in, and only with me sitting next to him. He then started asking to watch the fourth movie, which I consider too scary for him; so I explained that the fourth book is too scary and told him to instead try to read the first book. I said reading the book would make his brain stronger and help him be ready to watch the fourth movie when the time came. He interpreted that to mean that he could see the fourth movie after he finished the first book, and because I didn't think he would actually read the first book, I didn't contradict him. Then, for Christmas, the only thing he asked for in his Santa letter was the first three Harry Potter books. I really didn't think he would actually read them (they are waaaayyy above what I considered to be his reading level and he ordinarily has a veeeeerry short attention span). But since they were his entire Christmas list, and I thought maybe I would read them to him later on, and of course, we want to support reading, Santa brought them. Anyway, since Christmas, he's been diligently reading the first book and I realized yesterday that I have a problem because I'm pretty sure he's actually going to finish the first book pretty soon, and that would mean I would have to let him watch the fourth movie. So, just now, I looked up the rating and explained to D that it's rated PG-13 and we talked about what the ratings mean, and he decided that it's not a good idea to watch that movie till he's older. Instead, he plans to keep reading the first three books, and when he's done, if he's still interested, we will read the fourth book together.
Thursday, May 8, 2014
Birthday letter to Daniel, Age 6!
Birthday letter to Daniel, Age 6!
Feb. 16, 2014 - Colorado Spring, CO
Dear Little Bear,
Welcome to age 6!
The months since your half-birthday letter have flown by! We are pretty well settled in now, adjusted to the altitude and the climate. The autumn was short, and soon into it you developed a great fondness for playing in snow. You and father bear have played like peers, sledding and building a snow man.
Father Bear has settled in to his new job, where he provides counseling and serves as the alternate program manager for the Alcohol and Drug Treatment Program at Peterson and is doing massage on the side. As for me, I closed my private practice in NC and then once we finished the move to Colorado, I underwent a miserable Medicaid audit. Since then, I have joined the board of Autism/Aspergers Connections and taken on several volunteer responsibilities at your school. I have been most grateful to be able to focus on helping you with what you need. I hope to find a job here too, but your schedule keeps us both quite busy, and the benefits are worth it.
You are thriving at Academy ACL. You're doing well academically and have terrific friends! For several weeks you've been telling us how much you love Lydia, your "girlfriend," about whom you are charmingly serious! You presented her with a plastic ring and a big hug at your birthday party.
You've grown a great deal taller (46 inches now), and in addition to having had your tonsils and adenoids removed, you've also said goodbye to your four front teeth and the last inch or two of baby fat.
Your passions, interests, and explorations continue to evolve frequently, but of late they seem to include math, astronomy, languages (specifically French, German, and American Sign Language), and ice skating. According to the skating teachers, you're really quite talented! You've fallen in love with Curious George and loved singing songs such as Firework and The Boys 'Round Here, learned in an after-school singing class. Pretend play has also continued to evolve for you.
After you were asleep last night, Father Bear commented on how you seem to really enjoy your life in a way you never did before. It seems like things that used to be so hard for you really aren't anymore, and you seem happier. I agree with him that you enjoy your life a great deal more, and many things are becoming easier. Many things are still quite difficult for you and in some ways that's a good thing. You're developing those all-important perseverance muscles, and a growth mindset way of being in the world. More than any achievement or outcome, it makes me proud when I see you giving your all in the face of a challenge.
In the 8 whole days since you turned 6 you have completely adjusted to it. Now you are excited about the fact that you have two loose teeth and are enjoying your birthday gifts. You live in the moment and for the next milestone.
This morning, as I sneak my phone out to take a few notes for your birthday letter, you have climbed into bed with me and are either asleep, or as I so often do, you are feigning sleep. We both know the clock is ticking and soon the day will begin. You will be dressed and fed and off to school, and I will be on about my day.
The air is cold; the ground is covered in snow, and the day ahead is full. No one would blame either of us for stealing a few more minutes to enjoy the still of the darkness, the comforting heavy blankets, and the peace in this silence for just a little longer. But I think you're only aware of cherishing the remaining quiet before the day ahead. I feel like I'm actively cherishing the few sweet moments left before you decide that you're too old to snuggle in with Ma & Pa Bear for a stolen morning nap.
It has not yet occurred to you that moments like this one aren't going to be available forever. You haven't fully, consciously realized the implications of what growing up means. That someday you will give Lydia (or someone) a real ring, that you will move away, that you will fly. To you, this moment is just stolen from the busy day ahead.
Soon there will be sleep overs and club meetings and more and more play dates your parents don't attend. And though I've always known in theory that those things would come, I know that more and more concretely as you stretch and flap your wings. More and more often you tell me I'm not needed and that I can leave when I take you to school or you walk off with a friend or to an appointment. Those are bittersweet moments. It gives me joy - to see your burgeoning independence, as well as a mixture of joy and sorrow, that your parents are no longer the center of your universe.
Last year I prayed that for just a little while more that you would let me hold you. Thank-you for having done that, and thanks for all these stolen moments too, but you're ready to start working out your wings and we are as ready as parents can really be for you to do that. So this year, I invite you to stretch and grow, take risks and be brave enough to try. Trust that failure is safe and that we are here to catch you when you fall. Explore this wonderful world with your eyes, heart, and mind wide open, and trust that it IS wonderful! Keep exploring the whole range of yourself: athleticism and musicality, solemnity and exuberance, sense of humor and soulfulness; and trust that you ARE wonderful! It's clear to us that you are limited only by your willingness to try and by your imagination and your dreams. Dream big this year, and try. Manifest. Initiate. Fly!
Love, Mother Bear
Feb. 16, 2014 - Colorado Spring, CO
Dear Little Bear,
Welcome to age 6!
The months since your half-birthday letter have flown by! We are pretty well settled in now, adjusted to the altitude and the climate. The autumn was short, and soon into it you developed a great fondness for playing in snow. You and father bear have played like peers, sledding and building a snow man.
Father Bear has settled in to his new job, where he provides counseling and serves as the alternate program manager for the Alcohol and Drug Treatment Program at Peterson and is doing massage on the side. As for me, I closed my private practice in NC and then once we finished the move to Colorado, I underwent a miserable Medicaid audit. Since then, I have joined the board of Autism/Aspergers Connections and taken on several volunteer responsibilities at your school. I have been most grateful to be able to focus on helping you with what you need. I hope to find a job here too, but your schedule keeps us both quite busy, and the benefits are worth it.
You are thriving at Academy ACL. You're doing well academically and have terrific friends! For several weeks you've been telling us how much you love Lydia, your "girlfriend," about whom you are charmingly serious! You presented her with a plastic ring and a big hug at your birthday party.
You've grown a great deal taller (46 inches now), and in addition to having had your tonsils and adenoids removed, you've also said goodbye to your four front teeth and the last inch or two of baby fat.
Your passions, interests, and explorations continue to evolve frequently, but of late they seem to include math, astronomy, languages (specifically French, German, and American Sign Language), and ice skating. According to the skating teachers, you're really quite talented! You've fallen in love with Curious George and loved singing songs such as Firework and The Boys 'Round Here, learned in an after-school singing class. Pretend play has also continued to evolve for you.
After you were asleep last night, Father Bear commented on how you seem to really enjoy your life in a way you never did before. It seems like things that used to be so hard for you really aren't anymore, and you seem happier. I agree with him that you enjoy your life a great deal more, and many things are becoming easier. Many things are still quite difficult for you and in some ways that's a good thing. You're developing those all-important perseverance muscles, and a growth mindset way of being in the world. More than any achievement or outcome, it makes me proud when I see you giving your all in the face of a challenge.
In the 8 whole days since you turned 6 you have completely adjusted to it. Now you are excited about the fact that you have two loose teeth and are enjoying your birthday gifts. You live in the moment and for the next milestone.
This morning, as I sneak my phone out to take a few notes for your birthday letter, you have climbed into bed with me and are either asleep, or as I so often do, you are feigning sleep. We both know the clock is ticking and soon the day will begin. You will be dressed and fed and off to school, and I will be on about my day.
The air is cold; the ground is covered in snow, and the day ahead is full. No one would blame either of us for stealing a few more minutes to enjoy the still of the darkness, the comforting heavy blankets, and the peace in this silence for just a little longer. But I think you're only aware of cherishing the remaining quiet before the day ahead. I feel like I'm actively cherishing the few sweet moments left before you decide that you're too old to snuggle in with Ma & Pa Bear for a stolen morning nap.
It has not yet occurred to you that moments like this one aren't going to be available forever. You haven't fully, consciously realized the implications of what growing up means. That someday you will give Lydia (or someone) a real ring, that you will move away, that you will fly. To you, this moment is just stolen from the busy day ahead.
Soon there will be sleep overs and club meetings and more and more play dates your parents don't attend. And though I've always known in theory that those things would come, I know that more and more concretely as you stretch and flap your wings. More and more often you tell me I'm not needed and that I can leave when I take you to school or you walk off with a friend or to an appointment. Those are bittersweet moments. It gives me joy - to see your burgeoning independence, as well as a mixture of joy and sorrow, that your parents are no longer the center of your universe.
Last year I prayed that for just a little while more that you would let me hold you. Thank-you for having done that, and thanks for all these stolen moments too, but you're ready to start working out your wings and we are as ready as parents can really be for you to do that. So this year, I invite you to stretch and grow, take risks and be brave enough to try. Trust that failure is safe and that we are here to catch you when you fall. Explore this wonderful world with your eyes, heart, and mind wide open, and trust that it IS wonderful! Keep exploring the whole range of yourself: athleticism and musicality, solemnity and exuberance, sense of humor and soulfulness; and trust that you ARE wonderful! It's clear to us that you are limited only by your willingness to try and by your imagination and your dreams. Dream big this year, and try. Manifest. Initiate. Fly!
Love, Mother Bear
Sunday, January 12, 2014
August 12, 2013 - Half-Birthday Letter
August 12, 2013 - Half-Birthday Letter
Dear Little Bear, (I'll explain that in a bit),
According to my annual tradition of writing you birthday letters, I should not be writing to you again for another six months. That is absolutely bizarre. I don't think I can handle leaving it till then. Too much more is happening and will happen before your next birthday. Since you turned "Five Almost Six" last February, more has changed in your life and in our families shared life than most families experience in many years combined. Most grownups aren't forced through as much change as you have been forced through in these last six months in a single decade.
Last birthday, I began to pray a new prayer for you. I prayed that you would embrace the adventures that were on the way for all of us: that you would brave that which frightened you, tackle that which challenged you, revel in that which delighted you, and that for just a little while more, that you would let me hold you. I am blown away by how consistently, to the best of your ability, and more than anyone could reasonably have hoped, you have done that. You are doing that. All of it. But I am as overwhelmed with grief for you as I am with gratitude to you as I look back on all that you have had to face, and in so little time.
Father Bear (I'll explain that too) was gone for Air Force training for some of May and most of June. In those same months you were in a social skills group in Chapel Hill. June 5th, your tonsils and adenoids were removed and you began a much more intensive exploration of solid foods. That was hard on your body and there were many medical appointments and even visits to the emergency room. Amid all this your school year ended with your beloved Ms. Diane, and not too much later, your time ended at Pasitos Felices, the preschool you attended since you were 13 months old. We took a trip to South Carolina during which you were the ringbearer in uncle chips and aunt Catherine's wedding. June 29 through July 5 you were forced to undergo a harrowing, cross-country road trip in which you experienced both unparalleled boredom and unparalleled anxiety. We moved into a small apartment, quite different from the giant house we previously inhabited. Grandma and grandpa came to visit and we had a fantastic week filled with amazing Colorado Springs adventures. You did a bit of swimming in our apartment complex pool.
Your coping strategies seem to me to be a desperate attempt to revert to earlier in your childhood, to cling to that which is familiar and predictable, and often, to simply escape from the overwhelming chaos in which you have been forced to live. These have included frequent recitation of your favorite books (Pete the Cat), singing songs and chanting chants from the potty training DVD left over from when you were much younger, acting like a monkey (pretending to be Curious George) and pretending that you are Little Bear. You routinely insist on being called "Little Bear," "Bigger Little Bear," and "George" these days. You have decided and steadfastly maintain that I am now to be called "Mother Bear" and the man you once called "Papa" is now "Father Bear." You are also singing tons of science songs, sometimes insisting on giving concerts that last for way too long. You have been watching Way. Too. Many. Videos. You have made a few new friends along this recent journey, though, including Jack, Anderson, David, and a boy at the pool whose name I've forgotten but whom you really like.
Given so much change, it seems entirely unreasonable that in the midst of all of this your father and I have actually increased our behavioral expectations for you. We've tried to support you in helping you comply with expectations by giving you a picture schedule at home, but that can only do so much, and it's still been an entirely harrowing ordeal.
If there's any message I truly wish that I could adequately convey to you it's that I'm sorry. I'm not so much sorry for anything we've done (except for a few instances in which we snapped at you in moments of frustration). But I'm sorry you've had to experience so much change and discomfort all at once. I'm sorry you have had virtually no routine because we've been unable to give you any.
Today, that all changed but even that change is filled for you, and I admit for me, with anxiety. Excitement, yes. But so much anxiety. You met your new kindergarten teacher... excuse me, Division I teacher on Friday. Because your new teacher is amazing, despite all the stress of these recent months and in spite of the vow you've maintained since Ms. Diane told you you'd have to go on to kindergarten in the fall, (that you would not go to kindergarten and that you would never like another teacher), you like her! Words cannot express my gratitude and relief for this fact.
You were fantastic this morning as I dropped you off for your first day of school. You enjoyed a chat with an 8th grader named D.J., who says he has even more identities and names than you do. Your teacher said that a couple of times you started to wander off in the wrong direction, away from the class, e.g., you started to try to leave when the half-day kids did. At another point or two the whole class was headed in one direction and you started off in another. You say your favorite kids are Emma Leigh and Emma Grace, who played hide and seek with you at recess. You also like Carson and Jude. Your teacher said you sat off by yourself a few times but that other kids scooted over and sat by you so you weren't alone. I think they thought you wouldn't want to be alone but I asked you about this and you said you had wanted to be alone, but that it was ok that the other kids joined you. I'm glad it was okay with you that the other kids joined you, and so very grateful that they didn't want you to be alone. This was a great day, and I am confident that despite the enormity of changes still ahead, that today was the first day of the many that will make up a great year.
Onward!
Dear Little Bear, (I'll explain that in a bit),
According to my annual tradition of writing you birthday letters, I should not be writing to you again for another six months. That is absolutely bizarre. I don't think I can handle leaving it till then. Too much more is happening and will happen before your next birthday. Since you turned "Five Almost Six" last February, more has changed in your life and in our families shared life than most families experience in many years combined. Most grownups aren't forced through as much change as you have been forced through in these last six months in a single decade.
Last birthday, I began to pray a new prayer for you. I prayed that you would embrace the adventures that were on the way for all of us: that you would brave that which frightened you, tackle that which challenged you, revel in that which delighted you, and that for just a little while more, that you would let me hold you. I am blown away by how consistently, to the best of your ability, and more than anyone could reasonably have hoped, you have done that. You are doing that. All of it. But I am as overwhelmed with grief for you as I am with gratitude to you as I look back on all that you have had to face, and in so little time.
Father Bear (I'll explain that too) was gone for Air Force training for some of May and most of June. In those same months you were in a social skills group in Chapel Hill. June 5th, your tonsils and adenoids were removed and you began a much more intensive exploration of solid foods. That was hard on your body and there were many medical appointments and even visits to the emergency room. Amid all this your school year ended with your beloved Ms. Diane, and not too much later, your time ended at Pasitos Felices, the preschool you attended since you were 13 months old. We took a trip to South Carolina during which you were the ringbearer in uncle chips and aunt Catherine's wedding. June 29 through July 5 you were forced to undergo a harrowing, cross-country road trip in which you experienced both unparalleled boredom and unparalleled anxiety. We moved into a small apartment, quite different from the giant house we previously inhabited. Grandma and grandpa came to visit and we had a fantastic week filled with amazing Colorado Springs adventures. You did a bit of swimming in our apartment complex pool.
Your coping strategies seem to me to be a desperate attempt to revert to earlier in your childhood, to cling to that which is familiar and predictable, and often, to simply escape from the overwhelming chaos in which you have been forced to live. These have included frequent recitation of your favorite books (Pete the Cat), singing songs and chanting chants from the potty training DVD left over from when you were much younger, acting like a monkey (pretending to be Curious George) and pretending that you are Little Bear. You routinely insist on being called "Little Bear," "Bigger Little Bear," and "George" these days. You have decided and steadfastly maintain that I am now to be called "Mother Bear" and the man you once called "Papa" is now "Father Bear." You are also singing tons of science songs, sometimes insisting on giving concerts that last for way too long. You have been watching Way. Too. Many. Videos. You have made a few new friends along this recent journey, though, including Jack, Anderson, David, and a boy at the pool whose name I've forgotten but whom you really like.
Given so much change, it seems entirely unreasonable that in the midst of all of this your father and I have actually increased our behavioral expectations for you. We've tried to support you in helping you comply with expectations by giving you a picture schedule at home, but that can only do so much, and it's still been an entirely harrowing ordeal.
If there's any message I truly wish that I could adequately convey to you it's that I'm sorry. I'm not so much sorry for anything we've done (except for a few instances in which we snapped at you in moments of frustration). But I'm sorry you've had to experience so much change and discomfort all at once. I'm sorry you have had virtually no routine because we've been unable to give you any.
Today, that all changed but even that change is filled for you, and I admit for me, with anxiety. Excitement, yes. But so much anxiety. You met your new kindergarten teacher... excuse me, Division I teacher on Friday. Because your new teacher is amazing, despite all the stress of these recent months and in spite of the vow you've maintained since Ms. Diane told you you'd have to go on to kindergarten in the fall, (that you would not go to kindergarten and that you would never like another teacher), you like her! Words cannot express my gratitude and relief for this fact.
You were fantastic this morning as I dropped you off for your first day of school. You enjoyed a chat with an 8th grader named D.J., who says he has even more identities and names than you do. Your teacher said that a couple of times you started to wander off in the wrong direction, away from the class, e.g., you started to try to leave when the half-day kids did. At another point or two the whole class was headed in one direction and you started off in another. You say your favorite kids are Emma Leigh and Emma Grace, who played hide and seek with you at recess. You also like Carson and Jude. Your teacher said you sat off by yourself a few times but that other kids scooted over and sat by you so you weren't alone. I think they thought you wouldn't want to be alone but I asked you about this and you said you had wanted to be alone, but that it was ok that the other kids joined you. I'm glad it was okay with you that the other kids joined you, and so very grateful that they didn't want you to be alone. This was a great day, and I am confident that despite the enormity of changes still ahead, that today was the first day of the many that will make up a great year.
Onward!
Friday, July 12, 2013
Birthday letter - age 5
My Beloved Son,
You are FIVE!!! FIVE!!! I'm repeating myself with the hope that repetition will help me wrap my mind around the fact that I am the mother of a five year old. I am the mother of a boy who asks me how to make a website, makes strawberry pancakes with his papa, and has learned to roll his eyes when I get on his nerves.
You bear almost no resemblance to the cherub that I wrote last birthday. Miss Kris cut your hair to look like papa's and you have a wiggly from tooth. You have great friends, teachers who adore you and whom you also love. You're beginning to read and you like simple math. Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood has enchanted you of late; you sing all the time; and you love acting!! (Ms. Jessie was right)! A couple weeks ago, you ordered me outside, where I sat on a tree root and watched you give a 20 minute concert of science songs. Now you're getting into legit musical theater and you give an adorable rendition of "Where Is Love?" from Oliver, and "Little People," from Les Mis. Tonight, you sang with particular gusto and your words rang clear as crystal... "cause little people grow!" Indeed.
The fact that I am reeling hasn't phased you a bit. I am struggling to accept that you are FIVE, but you are not! You tell anyone who will listen! And to add to my astonishment, you're quick to add that soon you will be six!!! Wow. When you told one of your teachers today, she answered "Really? That was fast!" No kidding. That's what my chattery mind has been saying since I realized you were almost five. Now, almost six? Yes, to me you almost are; and she's right. That was fast!
This journey has felt very short to me, but looking back I see how far we'be come. When I wrote your 3 year old letter, the road ahead felt easy. When I wrote your 4 year old letter it terrified me. From where I sit today (next to you, as you watch PBS Kids and we share pizza; you burp and I remind you to say "excuse me"), it feels... dare I say it? Normal.
Normal doesn't look for us exactly like it does for other families. Then again, I think "normal" is a pretty subjective term. But we've found a rhythm. This rhythm works for us, for now. But our rhythm is also changing. It's almost time for you to start kindergarten, and there isn't any option here that seems quite right. So, we've taken the early steps and are about to take a huge leap as a family. We're moving in July to Colorado Springs. We'll leave behind almost everything familiar, taking only our belongings and each other.
I've pondered for several months now what prayer I would offer you today, and my once somewhat selfless prayer has taken on a slightly selfish tone. This year I pray that you will embrace the adventures that are on the way for all of us: that you will brave that which frightens you, tackle that which challenges you, revel in that which delights you, and that for just a little while more, that you will let me hold you. Your childhood is escaping me; and as I rejoice in your daily achievements and joys, I realize more intensely with each moment that the reason it is escaping me is that it isn't mine.
This should come as no shock to me. Not so long ago (it seems, to me), I wrote "I know better than to think we can possibly know all that much about your personality when you are only 13 days old, but some things are appearing that are not what the books predicted, and which I think are really your own. ...Even now, we can see that you are both a product of your parents and a uniquely new being. We’ll continue to try to be aware of the differences between the emerging you and our projections onto you as you grow up, because ultimately the little light inside of you is what we want to shine. We are stunned again and again that you chose our family to be a part of; and we feel so blessed." I stand by those words and am grateful that you keep me ever aware of the fact that while you are a product of your parents, you remain uniquely your own.
So, here's to you, five year old boy.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Can Art Re-Traumatize? - the original... Can Art Re-Traumatize? - Daniel's version (This one's still pretty rough. He's only seen it twice).
...
Scripting doesn't have to replace creativity! Maybe it can even evolve into it...
Visualization Episode - the original... Visualization Episode - Daniel's version
Indomitable Spirit - the original... Indomitable Spirit - Daniel's version
Can Art Re-Traumatize? - the original... Can Art Re-Traumatize? - Daniel's version (This one's still pretty rough. He's only seen it twice).
...
Scripting doesn't have to replace creativity! Maybe it can even evolve into it...
Pretend Play - Coffee!
Indomitable Spirit - the original... Indomitable Spirit - Daniel's version
Can Art Re-Traumatize? - the original... Can Art Re-Traumatize? - Daniel's version (This one's still pretty rough. He's only seen it twice).
...
Scripting doesn't have to replace creativity! Maybe it can even evolve into it...
Pretend Play - Coffee!
Monday, April 2, 2012
Adriana told Rhett they plan to begin transitioning Daniel into the 4-5 yo class today. Transition will be gradual. Transitioning him away from his beloved Monica (1-2 yo class) was excruciating but I have a feeling this will not be. It's loud in that classroom and D has historically struggled with loud sounds, but being with older and same-age peers will probably be good for him on the whole. I hope so!
Birthday Letter to Daniel - Age 4: Thursday, March 22, 2012
Dear Daniel,
Your birthday letter comes late this year. Your parents have been unreasonably busy. Your papa is in massage school and I am building a practice (moving to a new office) and learning a LOT. I'm learning a lot about a lot of things, but being the mom you need me to be is something I always have an antenna up for. In these last 10 months or so, the “topics” for my development as your mom have included Human Design/Manifestors and Autism.
According to Human Design, you are what is called an “Emotional Manifestor.” Your strategy is “to inform” and your life's purpose is to “initiate” - what, I don't know, but you initiate a lot. You have a powerful presence; your personality is well-defined; and your body is remarkably strong. You are visibly muscular, which I must say, I've never seen on a four year old and I swear we're not giving you steroids.
We wanted to help you to get a little more comfortable in your body and develop some more conversational communication skills, so we got you an IEP this year and you've been receiving some services that you really seem to enjoy and benefit from. There's been a need to tweak some things in order to best meet your needs, and as we've done that you have seemed to make even greater strides. Yesterday, we took you for a hard day of testing and they gave you a diagnosis of Autism. We really didn't see that coming, so we're struggling at the moment to get our footing. We're hellbent on not letting you be defined by a bunch of people who have only known you for a day. We're committed to taking what they can offer that we want for you and leaving the rest, only optimism and strengths-based assessments welcome here, thank-you very much! You are a REMARKABLE person.
If you read the definitions of a “Manifestor” and an “autistic person” you'll see that the descriptions are astonishingly similar. It's really quite remarkable! Diagnosis is intended to serve only positive purposes, but in fact, it is very often violent and diminishing, extracting from a person all the specialness and gifts that they have to offer the world. People who talk about "autism" seek to cure, fix, ... They see the person described as autistic as damaged, disabled, .... They seek "ordinary" "indistinguishable from their peers." I find that revolting. Who would want a life like that?!?!
But when people talk about raising their Manifestor child, they talk about celebrating a child's gifts, rejoicing in their child's personal power, capacity to initiate, and seemingly total freedom from co-dependence; they talk about teaching him/her to cope with an excessively controlling society, and to consider others needs when making decisions. I see that as a balanced, sane, and sustainable way to love a human being. In every school of therapy dealing with relationships, there is a core tenant - we must never seek to fix/change another person. I am in relationship with you and thus I must never seek to change or “fix” who you are. That should not be hard. You are not broken.
Autism or manifestor or something else... the words we choose speak volumes about what we believe, and the way a parent describes a child speaks volumes about who that parent believes the child to be. I choose to believe you are Daniel: the perfect, whole, unique, wild, wonderful, powerful, intense, adorable person; I am blessed and honored to parent such a soul! I welcome access to services that support our pursuit of giving you a foundation for joy. I reject any words they might use that inhibit that. I believe this may require that we forego many services, because the purveyors of those services may carry baggage you don't benefit from being asked to carry. Thus, I need to learn to hear through language, to get behind it, to find the spirit behind the words.
You remain as you have always been, compassionate and calm. You still accept limits with remarkably little difficulty, and still don't have many tantrums. We've learned not to set you up for tantrums too. One important way we do that is by making sure to let you get enough sleep; we keep our lives pretty routine. We're trying to incorporate more outside time into our whole family's weekend routines and to ensure that all the people in your caregiving/care-receiving routine are positive, non-anxious, and good for you.
There have been some areas this last year in which you have seemed to have a special interest, topics and explorations that have given you particular joy. For the first half of the year or so, these were mostly musical. You requested lots of instruments and played or played with the ones you had quite a bit (piano, guitar, recorder, violin, cello) but then you came upon an interest in memorizing all the podcasts from a gluten free cooking series, then numbers (you can count to at least 200 now, probably higher but you lose interest), now you've memorized all the existing podcasts from “3 Minute Art Therapy,” and have decided you're willing to get potty trained. That one came slowly but I'm grateful that it has arrived.
I close this letter with the same prayer I have prayed for you all year. I pray “that you will continue to explore the wonderful world with eyes, heart, and mind wide open; that you keep exploring the whole range of yourself: athleticism and musicality, solemnity and exuberance, sense of humor and soulfulness; and that you live into your gentleness, trust your intuition, and embrace the adventures that await you every day.”
Love, Mama
Your birthday letter comes late this year. Your parents have been unreasonably busy. Your papa is in massage school and I am building a practice (moving to a new office) and learning a LOT. I'm learning a lot about a lot of things, but being the mom you need me to be is something I always have an antenna up for. In these last 10 months or so, the “topics” for my development as your mom have included Human Design/Manifestors and Autism.
According to Human Design, you are what is called an “Emotional Manifestor.” Your strategy is “to inform” and your life's purpose is to “initiate” - what, I don't know, but you initiate a lot. You have a powerful presence; your personality is well-defined; and your body is remarkably strong. You are visibly muscular, which I must say, I've never seen on a four year old and I swear we're not giving you steroids.
We wanted to help you to get a little more comfortable in your body and develop some more conversational communication skills, so we got you an IEP this year and you've been receiving some services that you really seem to enjoy and benefit from. There's been a need to tweak some things in order to best meet your needs, and as we've done that you have seemed to make even greater strides. Yesterday, we took you for a hard day of testing and they gave you a diagnosis of Autism. We really didn't see that coming, so we're struggling at the moment to get our footing. We're hellbent on not letting you be defined by a bunch of people who have only known you for a day. We're committed to taking what they can offer that we want for you and leaving the rest, only optimism and strengths-based assessments welcome here, thank-you very much! You are a REMARKABLE person.
If you read the definitions of a “Manifestor” and an “autistic person” you'll see that the descriptions are astonishingly similar. It's really quite remarkable! Diagnosis is intended to serve only positive purposes, but in fact, it is very often violent and diminishing, extracting from a person all the specialness and gifts that they have to offer the world. People who talk about "autism" seek to cure, fix, ... They see the person described as autistic as damaged, disabled, .... They seek "ordinary" "indistinguishable from their peers." I find that revolting. Who would want a life like that?!?!
But when people talk about raising their Manifestor child, they talk about celebrating a child's gifts, rejoicing in their child's personal power, capacity to initiate, and seemingly total freedom from co-dependence; they talk about teaching him/her to cope with an excessively controlling society, and to consider others needs when making decisions. I see that as a balanced, sane, and sustainable way to love a human being. In every school of therapy dealing with relationships, there is a core tenant - we must never seek to fix/change another person. I am in relationship with you and thus I must never seek to change or “fix” who you are. That should not be hard. You are not broken.
Autism or manifestor or something else... the words we choose speak volumes about what we believe, and the way a parent describes a child speaks volumes about who that parent believes the child to be. I choose to believe you are Daniel: the perfect, whole, unique, wild, wonderful, powerful, intense, adorable person; I am blessed and honored to parent such a soul! I welcome access to services that support our pursuit of giving you a foundation for joy. I reject any words they might use that inhibit that. I believe this may require that we forego many services, because the purveyors of those services may carry baggage you don't benefit from being asked to carry. Thus, I need to learn to hear through language, to get behind it, to find the spirit behind the words.
You remain as you have always been, compassionate and calm. You still accept limits with remarkably little difficulty, and still don't have many tantrums. We've learned not to set you up for tantrums too. One important way we do that is by making sure to let you get enough sleep; we keep our lives pretty routine. We're trying to incorporate more outside time into our whole family's weekend routines and to ensure that all the people in your caregiving/care-receiving routine are positive, non-anxious, and good for you.
There have been some areas this last year in which you have seemed to have a special interest, topics and explorations that have given you particular joy. For the first half of the year or so, these were mostly musical. You requested lots of instruments and played or played with the ones you had quite a bit (piano, guitar, recorder, violin, cello) but then you came upon an interest in memorizing all the podcasts from a gluten free cooking series, then numbers (you can count to at least 200 now, probably higher but you lose interest), now you've memorized all the existing podcasts from “3 Minute Art Therapy,” and have decided you're willing to get potty trained. That one came slowly but I'm grateful that it has arrived.
I close this letter with the same prayer I have prayed for you all year. I pray “that you will continue to explore the wonderful world with eyes, heart, and mind wide open; that you keep exploring the whole range of yourself: athleticism and musicality, solemnity and exuberance, sense of humor and soulfulness; and that you live into your gentleness, trust your intuition, and embrace the adventures that await you every day.”
Love, Mama
Birthday Letter to Daniel - Age 3: February 9, 2011
Sweet Daniel,Yesterday, you turned three! You have grown – virtually overnight, like, in the last month! – from a toddler into a little boy. Sometimes I look over, and I can already see you as a man.
You are deeply compassionate, very affectionate, calm, and never aggressive (as people so often say that boys will be). You accept limits with remarkably little difficulty, and have tantrums ONLY if your parents fell down on the job and deprived you of adequate sleep. You have very good boundaries. You say things like “Don’t hit me!” to other kids; you never hit back. You are very brave but very cautious. By this, I mean that you stare for a really long time at a tall thing before you climb it, or at a new person before you approach them. But excluding only a few challenges (selected with parental assistance and your own wisdom), you almost always make the climb or the approach. Throughout your life, you’ve rarely initiated touch with others (either affectionate or aggressive), but you’re more and more often coming to me or your Papa and just wrapping your sweet arms around us. It is bliss. Of course, you’ve always been up for sweet snuggles :-).
Your favorite word lately is “No!” – always emphatic, exclamation point required. And you adore music - singing and drumming, some piano, and you’re desperate to be big enough to hold that guitar like the grown-ups do. (That will be sooner than you think thanks to the birthday present Grandma and Grandpa are giving you)! Drawing’s not your favorite thing, but you like it well enough. You enjoy building things with lego-type toys. You still especially love crosses and of course, “Bear.” In recent developments, you LOVE playing soccer! It’s by far your favorite thing. You can entertain yourself for a really long time just kicking around the soccer ball out back. I bet the neighbors wish you’d do this wearing pants.
My prayers for you are that you will continue to explore the wonderful world with eyes, heart, and mind wide open; that you keep exploring the whole range of yourself: athleticism and musicality, solemnity and exuberance, sense of humor and soulfulness; and that you live into your gentleness, trust your intuition, and embrace the adventures that await you every day.
Love, Mama
You are deeply compassionate, very affectionate, calm, and never aggressive (as people so often say that boys will be). You accept limits with remarkably little difficulty, and have tantrums ONLY if your parents fell down on the job and deprived you of adequate sleep. You have very good boundaries. You say things like “Don’t hit me!” to other kids; you never hit back. You are very brave but very cautious. By this, I mean that you stare for a really long time at a tall thing before you climb it, or at a new person before you approach them. But excluding only a few challenges (selected with parental assistance and your own wisdom), you almost always make the climb or the approach. Throughout your life, you’ve rarely initiated touch with others (either affectionate or aggressive), but you’re more and more often coming to me or your Papa and just wrapping your sweet arms around us. It is bliss. Of course, you’ve always been up for sweet snuggles :-).
Your favorite word lately is “No!” – always emphatic, exclamation point required. And you adore music - singing and drumming, some piano, and you’re desperate to be big enough to hold that guitar like the grown-ups do. (That will be sooner than you think thanks to the birthday present Grandma and Grandpa are giving you)! Drawing’s not your favorite thing, but you like it well enough. You enjoy building things with lego-type toys. You still especially love crosses and of course, “Bear.” In recent developments, you LOVE playing soccer! It’s by far your favorite thing. You can entertain yourself for a really long time just kicking around the soccer ball out back. I bet the neighbors wish you’d do this wearing pants.
My prayers for you are that you will continue to explore the wonderful world with eyes, heart, and mind wide open; that you keep exploring the whole range of yourself: athleticism and musicality, solemnity and exuberance, sense of humor and soulfulness; and that you live into your gentleness, trust your intuition, and embrace the adventures that await you every day.
Love, Mama
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